In the new play American Devotion at Crow’s Theatre, Franca Miraglia imagines what might have transpired if writer and filmmaker Norman Mailer and his wife were invited to drinks with Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe at their farmhouse in Connecticut in 1957. Monroe was a star actress and model and her husband for a time, Miller, was a playwright and essayist.
The story begins with Monroe (played by Misha Harding) and Miller (Holm Bradwell) having second thoughts about Mailer’s (Mark Rittinger) impending visit. With Monroe seeking comfort and popping pills, Miller is ineffectual in his reassurance.
Mailer arrives with a bottle of bourbon and without his wife. He’s a bombastic provocateur dreaming of resuscitating his stagnant career. Miller struggles to entertain his guest and coax Monroe downstairs for a drink.
It’s a trio of toxic archetypes. Mailer is the dreaded edgelord. Miller is the well-intended but ineffectual intellectual. And Monroe is the underestimated sexpot. They’re endearing, if a bit one dimensional.
Harding demonstrates an admirable emotional range playing Monroe, between her primping, her pill popping, her soliloquies and her desperate interactions with Miller.
Miller and Mailer are akin to Didi and Gogó waiting for their Godot, wondering if she’ll ever come downstairs. Their antagonistic relationship begins awkwardly but as their aggression ratchets up, so does the comfort of the actors as they find their rhythm.
Though this production, directed by Mario D’Alimonte, offers no new insights into these icons, the parallels from 1957 to the present day were both alarming and a reminder that all that is old is new again. The anti-communist McCarthyism, the rigid gender roles and the American celebrity worship are all so familiar.
Apparently, Miraglia wrote American Devotion 12 years ago, but it feels like a commentary on today, as social media democratizes celebrity, we turn every facet of private life into performance and police social norms.
American Devotion is on at Crow’s Theatre until June 21.
